Obligatory disclaimer: The Mouse owns all, save my own original characters.


Norrington was taken completely aback when Julia asked, "While I am fixing the chowder and bread, would you like to get cleaned up? Will take no time at all to draw you a bath and I have some clean clothes of my husband's that might just fit you. I promise you that would cause me no heartbreak to part with the items. Besides, it would give you something to do while I prepare our food."

Swallowing hard, the first thought that entered his mind was that the majority of baths taken, to the best of his knowledge, happened in the keeping room… where Julia would be fixing their meal. And if that was the case, then the hell with the meal, he wanted Julia to soap his back – and other parts of his person. But he knew such thoughts were improper and that Julia would not offer if she had not planned on keeping her virtue intact.

As if reading his mind, Julia continued, "We have a borning room that we built for the infirm that also allows for privacy when bathing. That way, you shall have your privacy, but if you are in need of anything, I will be within earshot." At the look of confusion coloring his features, Julia explained further. "A borning room is where people are born into this world and born out of this world. It also has outside access without having to go through the house. In addition to doctoring in there, my husband wished… for privacy when he bathed. So he would commandeer the infirmary. I am sure having access to the outside allowed for him to entertain visitors without having me meet his guests. Regardless, I must admit that I find it relaxing, having a room to disappear into when I take a bath myself."

Norrington eyed the woman standing before him. There was no embarrassment tingeing her cheeks. There was no adverted gaze. There was no shuffling of her feet. There was only Julia staring at him with an expectant look coloring her features. Nothing seedy. Nothing improper. Nothing like the thoughts dancing though his mind. His jaw clenched involuntarily and his left brow rose in curiosity. "Are you insinuating that I am in need of a bath?" Norrington was thrilled that his tone was light.

Without even blinking, she answered, "Yes."

His lips curved into a smile, as did Julia's. Ah, there was the Missus Ramage he had come to know and… appreciate. Bloody Hell, why did it take so long to think of an appropriate word to finish that thought? Letting his gaze drift away from his hostess, Norrington found himself staring at a painting of Julia's dead husband. It was unnerving to Norrington knowing what the man looked like. Especially when comparing the man to himself. Norrington shook his head, as if ridding the thought from his head.

Turning back to his hostess, Norrington purred. "Then again, I shall take advantage of your hospitality. But only if you will let me draw the bathwater. It is the least I can do while you are preparing our dinner."

Julia sighed. The man before did not take to kindness easily. Fine. She would let him think they were playing his game, but they were her rules.

"Certainly. Although you are a hard man to be nice to, I want you to know that." Getting a glimmer of a smile from the captain, Julia pivoted and started for the keeping room. "Now follow me, I shall show you were you will bathe. A door leads to the outside where we… I mean I… heat the water during the warmer months. No sense in making the house an hotter than the summer temperatures already do." Julia finished in a rush, stumbling over her words after she made reference to their being more than herself in the house at one point in time.

Norrington followed Julia's retreating back, appreciating the sway of her hips and lines of her neck, hating himself for allowing his thoughts to wander beneath her skirts, but unable to help himself. But, Norrington told himself, soon he would be out of her hair – but what he would not give to see her hair unbound one last time and caressing the curves of her naked back – and on his way back to a life on the seas.

After heating four bucketfuls of water, he found himself soaking in a tub of lukewarm water. Through the door to the yard, he could hear Julia humming to herself as she utilized the same fire used to heat his bathwater to simmer the chowder she was concocting. Sliding down so that the water hit his chin, Norrington ruminated over the events of the past several hours.

Passing through the heart of the city to the outskirts of town where she lived, Julia made small talk, pointing out areas of interest and giving a simple history of the town. Norrington was impressed that she not only was able to give details of Charles Towne, but how the city impacted others or was impacted by other towns. He had no idea that many people summered north in Boston and then traveled south to Charles Towne for the winter – or that the towns were sister cities. When Norrington pointed out how the streets were laid out in an orderly fashion, Julia confirmed his observations by explaining that Charles Towne was planned and designed with a street grid plotted before the construction of the homes. She then went on to explicate that Charles Towne was the fifth largest city in the Colonies and that Charles Towne was a port of call for piracy and smuggling trade, much like Tortuga was in the Caribbean. At the mention of pirates, her fingers dug into the seat as anger colored her features.

Norrington recoiled at the umbrage in Julia's voice, hoping that she was unable to see his physical reaction. The buildings they passed were a blur as she ranted about the appearance of pirates in Charles Towne and how the city was dangerous and immoral. That although people were required to attend church on Sunday, the other six days of the week gambling ran rampant and authorities turned a blind eye to prostitution. Norrington was grateful with the coach pulled up in front of Julia's home.

As Norrington quietly observed the outside of Julia's residence, he was struck at the sheer mass of the structure. While other homes in the area had a similar look to one another, the building before him was a hodge-podge of room additions tacked on to each other, as more space was needed.

The house was large and substantial, two stories high, with gables on each side. The entry door centered on the front of the house and a substantial chimney ran through the center of the building. Several one-story lean-tos were added over time, the unpainted shingled siding showing various degrees of weathering, resulting in a hodgepodge look. There were numerous windows, but all were small due to the fact that glass was scarce – even in England – and had to be shipped to the colonies. Ballast stones were utilized for the foundation and compromised one sidewall, although Norrington knew masonry was difficult in the colonies due to the lack of lime, which was the main ingredient in mortar. Under closer inspection, he saw that yellow clay and crushed oyster shells were used to cement the rocks into place and that different types of lumber revealed their additions to the building over time, like an archeological dig.

When Norrington commented on the interesting architecture of the house, Julia made a face and gave a cryptic answer about her husband having hated the look of the home. But Norrington loved the garbled together look of the building. Instead of looking stately, the house was warm, inviting, and unconventional.

Much like the building's mistress, Norrington thought.

After dismissing the driver of the wagon, Norrington allowed himself to be led though the front door of his ward's home. Taking a deep breath as he crossed the threshold, Norrington knew he was gawking as he took in his new surroundings. But he soon found himself pleasantly surprised at how familiar the home felt to him. Comfortably furnished and cozier than many other homes of similar circumstances, Norrington instantly felt at ease – a far cry from how he felt walking up to the house. Although Norrington would admit it to no one, lest of all himself, until he entered the building his nerves were crying out from tension. Not at all becoming of a former Navy Commodore.

The only room that looked out of place was the formal sitting room; instead, it looked more like a waiting area in a doctor's office. Although, considering what Julia's husband did for a living, it was not only understandable, but expected. A fireplace overtook one wall and a painting of the doctor hung over the mantle, a reminder to the waiting patients of what their doctor looked like. Smiling wryly, Norrington realized that there were still numerous residual reminders of Julia's previous husband, as if he would walk in at any moment.

Previous? Where did that come from? That infers that she either has a current husband… or will soon have one, old man.

Norrington followed Julia through the lower level rooms of the house into the keeping room, where he then folded himself into a well-worn chair while waiting for a pot of coffee to brew. The room was warm and inviting, despite its massive proportions. His gaze flitted about the room. A large fireplace housed an iron crane from which S hooks hung, of which one suspended the coffeepot that was steeping their drink, as well as a spit and warming oven. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with earthenware, woodenware and tin goods. In front of the window sat a behemoth loom and next to it, a spinning wheel. In the corner sat a butter churn, which made Norrington ruminated over how different his life was from his hostess'. He wondered how many good times were had in the room, how many bad times.

Julia smiled at him over the cup of coffee she was pouring for him, then proposed the bath, of which he finally agreed. And now, here he was, in rapidly cooling water that was originally not very warm, a pile of clothes belonging to a dead man on the floor beside him.

How on earth did I go from thinking that Missus Ramage was a whore walking the docks to sitting naked in her bathtub? And why does this feel so damn comfortable? I should be feeling… awkward, but instead I feel a sense of… belonging.

Dunking his head under the water to rinse whatever soap might be remaining in his hair, Norrington involuntarily shuddered as the thought of Davy Jones and his crew came to mind. The water closing over his head reminded him of the near miss he had with spending a lifetime at the bottom of the sea. An eternity in the locker was worse than an eternity in hell – and at one moment in time, either were a distinct possibility. Thank God that he had pulled out of the headlong descent he had been not just been flirting with, but damned near married to. And while all the events that transpired seemed to have happened a lifetime ago, Norrington shrugged off the uneasiness that washed over him like the water in the tub. It was only residual anxiety from his doings in the past. He was not only living a new chapter in his life, but was in a whole new novel complete with not only new characters but a whole new plot.

He then realized just what it was that was missing from his life. Not a home, which would be nice. Not a family, which would be better. But rather, the mundane. Not in a bad way, but so much of his life was extraordinary… was fantastic. What was missing were little moments that other people took for granted. Little moments that meant so little to others made his heart ache when he was able to participate in such activities. A bath in somewhere other than a brothel, bathhouse or inn seemed incredibly… commonplace. And commonplace had no place in his life.

Until, possibly, this moment.

Surfacing from beneath the water's surface, Norrington decided that he needed to get back to his hostess. Not at all sure of how much time had elapsed, he was positive that his absence was bordering on rude. Rising out of the water, Norrington caught a glance of his image in the large looking glass leaning against the wall. He ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced at his reflection. Scars peppered his body. Battle wounds. Drunken brawls. Gads, 'tis a wonder women have not gone screaming at the sight of you.

Two years, give or take, since any woman had seen him in any sort of undress… had any sort of intimate contact with anyone of the fairer sex.

Two years since he gave up his attempt to plow through every piece of willing flesh in order to eradicate Elizabeth Swann from his heart. Norrington had lost track of how many women he had bedded and for how long he had been bedding them, but for the grace of God did he manage to escape catching any diseases from the women whose arms he fell into.

Such thoughts were not going to get him into his borrowed clothes any faster, but it would make it more difficult. It would seem such recollections were having an effect on a certain part of his anatomy. Sighing, Norrington grabbed a towel and began to dry off, pretending his obviously enthusiastic reaction – to exactly what, he did not know – did not exist.

Slipping on the dead man's pants, Norrington learned more about the man than he ever thought possible. Julia had to have been a good half a foot taller than her husband, as Norrington discovered he, himself, was at least a foot taller than the deceased doctor. Norrington was grateful that the good doctor was also a great deal thicker in the waist than he was, as the pants on hit him mid-calf rather than at the knee. After slipping the shirt over his head, Norrington pulled the suspender straps over his shoulders, adjusting the length of them, and then smoothed his hair back, wringing more water out of his tresses.

As soon as a clean pair of socks were donned, Norrington pulled on his boots, took a deep breath, and reentered the kitchen. When the latch clicked open, Julia spun around from the kitchen table where she had been setting up their supper. Assaulted by the delicious scents of warm bread and hot soup, Norrington causally leaned against the doorway and hoped that he did not wear the idiotic grin he so desperately tried to suppress. If there was a heaven, it would smell like Julia's kitchen and all the angels would look like her.